Wings of Liberty
by The Mighty Santa
Summary: A small task force of Terran ships are displaced from the Starcraft universe into the Warhammer universe. Will a reluctlant Emperor Valerian Mengsk have the will to command it to victory? Or will he be crushed into ashes by a galaxy suffering from thousands of years of war?
1. SNAFU

**Chapter I: SNAFU**

It had not been a good day for Emperor Valerian Mengsk of the newly-reformed Terran Dominion. In fact, this whole week had gone to shit. It had only been 3 years since the destruction of Amon and the hybrid threat, and _already_ the political infighting and bickering had started. His current headache was a very simple matter that had been blown completely out of proportion, thanks in no measure by the unwillingness of the two parties to work together. The issue was the day of the elections. Ever since he had announced his intention to abdicate and have free democratic elections, the two major political groups had been fighting about _election day_. The National People's Party wanted it on the birthday of his deceased father, Arcturus Mengsk. The Democratic-Labor Party, an unlikely fusion of two very different idealogies wanted it on the first Tuesday of November. Why? He had no idea. Both sides had argued about it for weeks until the leaders of the parties refused to even speak to each other. It was a political clusterfuck that he wanted no part in. He was half-tempted to cancel the elections just to see the shitstorm he would conjure up. Of course, that would never happen. He still smiled at the thought of it. Even he could pretend once in a while, no?

It had been a huge relief when he had gotten word of the testing of an experimental new warpdrive. He'd use any excuse to get away from the toxic political-land known as Augustgrad. He snorted. If this was how democracy worked, he wasn't seeing much out of the future. However, he would never tread the path of his father; he adhered to the concept that no one man should have absolute power, for absolute power corrupted absolutely. A cliché, but even cliché were clichés for a reason.

His musings were interrupted by the First Mate. "Officer on deck!"

The entire Command Information Center went dead silent as Commodore Damian Rohan stepped into the room. He fired back a casual salute at the crew. "At ease, sailors." Chatter again picked up as normal activity resumed. Commodore Rohan walked over to where Valerian was standing.

Commodore Damian "Trouble" Rohan was an average man by all physical standards. At exactly 6 foot, he wasn't the shortest but he wasn't overwhelmingly tall either. His face had no memorable features, except perhaps a faint scar that ran down his sideburns. A gift from a zergling. His jet-black hair was combed neatly to the side, in a typically efficient military-style. What was perhaps the most striking about him, however, were his eyes. His piercing green eyes had all the intensity of a nuclear blast but with the focus of a laser scapel. There was an urban rumor floating around that he had almost been fired as a clerk, but he had stared down his boss until he had relented. In short, he was a man you did not want to mess with.

"Emperor Mengsk. It is an honor."

Valerian smiled. "Hopefully not for long, Commodore Rohan. I pray the democratic process proves suitable for our great nation as it plows through the waves of fate."

A small smile crept up the corners of Rohan's mouth. "I see your flowery language hasn't change one bit, my soon-not-to-be-Emperor."

"Old habits die hard, my friend." With that, the two embraced.

"You bastard. You haven't changed a bit. Hell, I'd say you're shorter now than ever," said Valerian teasingly.

Rohan's face contorted into one of great offence. "Shorter? Surely your eyes deceive you. Perhaps some laser surgery is in need for my Royal Highness."

"If anyone is in need of laser surgery, it is you, Damian. Perhaps an operation on your, uh, genital areas? We can't be having individuals such as _you_ reproducing. Imagine the corruption you'd bring to our gene pool! No. You must never be allowed to reproduce. In fact, I think this mandates an Imperial Order. My first and last before I abdicate the crown."

A knock on the head from the Commodore revealed that it was not funny. No jokes about that area of the body ever were.

* * *

**4 hours later**

The Dining Room was ornately decorated, with red walls overlaid by gold bands that ran around the room. The table was obviously built for far more than the current occupancy for two, and was very expensive-looking as well.

Dinner was fantastic, a very impressive feat considering their location and the materials the chefs had to work with. Valerian made a mental note to give the mess hall staff a pay raise after this particular vacation was over.

"So," asked Rohan in between bites of caviar, "How's running the nation been so far?"

Valerian put his face between his hands. "Awful, my dear Damian. Just awful. Can you believe we're fighting about what day we're going to put elections on? Jesus Christ, some days I swear the leaderships of both parties just graduated kindergarten."

Rohan nodded. "I feel you. Back when I was a paper-pusher myself there was a lot of shit I had to deal with. An order for a coffee machine for the office took 11 weeks to process and another 7 weeks to deliver. Jesus, can you imagine 18 weeks with no coffee?"

Mengsk attempted to do so, then found it was too painful to imagine. So he simply shook his head.

"Best decision of my life," continued Rohan. "Leaving that hellhole and enlisting. You have no idea how liberating that is. Just getting free of all the bureaucrats with their bureaucrap. And miles of paperwork. Shit, I still do paperwork, but it isn't one-tenth of what I used to do. And that was as a low-level 'crat. I don't think I'd survive at the top. Honestly, I should have just let myself get fired that one time. Remember? I stared at that motherfu-"

Rohan's sentence was interrupted by the ringing of a sudden klaxon. Used since the early 20th century on bicycles, there was no better way to communicate sudden danger to a crew. Mengsk's bodyguards rushed in, pulling the unfortunate Emperor off his chair. Others took positions around the room, pointing their deadly C-14 rifles at the door. CMC armor meant guards couldn't bury their principal any more, but they sure as hell could stand in front of him. Which accomplished basically the same thing.

"What the hell is going on here?" demanded Mengsk.

The leader of the small, selective unit answered, "We don't know, sir. But we recommend staying put until the crisis is over."

A member of the crew took this unfortunate moment to run into the room. Suddenly noticing the large number of loaded guns pointed his way, he nervously put his shaking hands up.

"A message from the CIC," he squeaked. "A malfunction with the warpdrive. Uhh, nothing's clear as of right now."

Valerian took this as a chance to get out of his protective circle. "At ease, soldiers." When he saw none of them listened, he repeated, "_At ease_, gentlemen." They finally caught on and reluctantly lowered their weapons.

Emperor Mengsk walked over to the very frightened crewmate. "Son, can you lead Commodore Rohan and I up to the CIC? We can get a better sense of what's going on up there. I'm sure these kind gentlemen will make themselves useful _someone else_ while we figure out this snafu."

"Y-yes, your Highness," said the man in a very small voice.

"Very well. Lead on."

Once they reached the CIC, Valerian could see it was bad. Very bad. Bad as in FUBAR-bad.

Rohan's word perfectly summed up their situation. "Shit."

The fleet itself had taken no damage. Nothing had changed _inside_ the fleet. The problem was outside. Because it seemed they had someone jumped right in the middle of a battle between two opposing forces. Two very angry forces.

"Contact! Radar shows 2,191 unidentified small spacecraft and 28 capital-level ships. Nearest contact 17,000 kilometers. Energy levels in the gigatons, sir."

Another crewmate with a similar yet totally different task suddenly shouted, "Contact! Vampire, vampire, vampire! Missiles in the air, ETA 4 minutes. Leaking radiation, highly likely to be nuclear in nature!"

Rohan and Mengsk shared a look. It was Mengsk who said it this time. "Shit."


	2. Why We Fall

**Chapter II: Why We Fall**

Rohan froze for a moment before taking control of the situation. "Fleet sitrep! What the hell is going on?"

"All ships alive and operational, sir. DNS _Leyte Gulf_ reports minor damage to shields, most likely from a large piece of space debris."

"I thought you had adjutants for this?" asked Valerian.

Rohan fired back, "I prefer a live person."

Valerian nodded. "Fair enough."

"Missiles two minutes out and closing. 19 contacts designated Sierra, sir."

The tension in the CIC was palpable.

"Can we jump out of the way?"

"Negative, sir. The jump left our jump drive on cooldown for another 10 minutes."

They'd be lucky to be alive in that time.

"Spread out the fleet! Longhorn formation! I want limited casualties in case any of those missiles hit," barked Rohan. "Get me the _Expedition_."

"Aye, sir." Two seconds later, a communications link was opened up between one of the two Explorer-class Science Vessel in the task force.

"Captain Dougherty! Sitrep on your vessel."

Dougherty's eyes flicked downwards to his infosheet before he looked up and said, "Energy tanks full, sir. Shields and hull integrity at 100 percent, and nanorepair beams functional. All other functions are available as well."

Rohan thought for a split second before responding, "I want defensive matrix, cast on the _Edge, Leyte Gulf, Judicator _and_ Hellraiser, _all the older models. The rest of us can use it ourselves. I need this yesterday, captain. Do you understand?"

Captain Dougherty gave off a crisp salute before shouting off orders to his crew.

"Get me Captain Philips!" fired off Rohan, the situation now critical. A few seconds later, Captain Phililps of the DNS _Edge of Infinity_ appeared on his comms screan.

"Yes, commodore?"

Rohan and Phililps had known each other since they were 4 years old. They had grown up together, all the way from kindergarten to the Dominion Naval Academy, where they had graduated at top 1 and 2 in their class.

A moment of weakness overtook Rohan for a moment before he regained his professional composure. "As you are surely aware, there are currently 19 missiles headed towards the _Executor_. If the missiles get through and… the _Executor_ goes down, I am ordering you to take command. Is that clear, captain?"

Philips stared at the screen for a second before nodding. "Aye, commodore. But let me warn you, if you die on me now I will personally hunt you down and kick your ass, sir."

Rohan laughed. Funny how humor came upon men in the face of certain death.

"I can live with that, captain. Good luck and lets kick some ass. Rohan out."

He switched to the live radar display and found the 19 missiles still steadily headed towards the _Executor_.

"One minute till impact!"

"How long till in Phalanx range?"

"About 20 seconds, sir."

The Phalanx Close-In Weapons System is the Dominion navy's most recent breakthrough; mounted on the ships themselves, they are the capital ship equivalent of point-defense drones. The idea behind the Phalanx CIWS is not complicated; instead of shooting a missile with a pinpoint accurate burst, fill the area with so much material the missile is not be able to penetrate. With a rate-of-fire of 150,000 bullets a minute or 10 _million_ a minute at near light speed, it is one of the best defensive weapons produced by the Dominion. The lack of any moving parts except for the bullet makes it so the weapon can never jam. Appropriately nicknamed "Metal Storm," it has a 97.9 percent success rate against enemy missiles and can be used successfully against enemy fighters as well.

The other anti-missile system used by the Dominion is the Maelstrom Defensive Missile Pods. When the new missile pods on battlecruisers were deemed inefficient, they were upgraded to the Maelstrom missile pods, defensive missiles designed to shoot down other missiles, although they can also be used against spacecraft as well. The Maelstrom missiles have an almost 98.6 percent success rate against missiles.

Both of these weapons systems have ensured that the Dominion Navy has never lost a ship to missiles. The odds of a projectile making it through both the Phalanx and Maelstrom systems were about 3 out of a million, or 0.029 percent. In other words, there was absolutely no chance a single missile could make it through.

However, there were currently 19 missiles headed for the fleet, each with a yield estimated to be in the hundreds of megatons. While the Defensive Matrix would absorb most of the hit, the shields of a targeted ship would take a massive hit; additional missiles would probably destroy the target.

"Maelstrom missiles away! 48 seconds to impact!"

A few second later, Rohan could see the first of the enemy missiles taken down by 2 simultaneous hits by Maelstrom missiles.

"Phalanx system online! 14 vampires remaining!"

Valerian gripped the chair. The missiles were getting awfully close. Unbeknownst to him, his face and hand were both deathly white due to the stress and his grip on the chair.

"Splash eight, 11 vampires left! 24 seconds to impact!"

They weren't going to get them all in time. Valerian closed his eyes, whispering softly while Rohan stared ahead with a stoic determination.

"7 remaining! 17 seconds!" The announcements were getting noticeably shorter.

"4 left! 8 seconds! 7! 6! 5 seconds to impact! 3 missiles remaining!"

He got no further. There was a sudden white flash as the DNS _Edge of Infinity_ materialized in front of their screens.

"WHAT?!" roared Rohan. "I NEVER AUTHORIZED THIS."

The comms screen came back to life. "I'm sorry sir, I can't let you leave before me. Else I'd have to kick your ass."

"Get out of there Philips! I'll kill you!"

The first missile struck. The Defensive Matrix held, a flash of green indicating where the deadly payload had exploded. The matrix collapsed as a second missile hit.

"Too late, sir. Good luck, and if I find you down there with me in less than 20 years I'll- I'll-"

He never got to finish his sentence. The Defensive Matrix drained by the first two hits, the third multi-megaton rocket smashed through what was left of the _Edge of Infinity_'s shields and exploded on the left side of the battlecruiser.

In most movies, a ship explodes with a certain dignity; the fireball expands, the ship crumbles and all is lost to the fire. In reality, it is quite different. The explosion that killed the _Edge of Infinity _was not all that large, as the vacuum of space made it impossible for shockwaves or fireballs to form. However, the sheer force of the payload was enough. The hull was ripped apart and the once-mighty ship began to leak atmosphere. From the _Executor_'s CIC Rohan could only watch in horror as thousands of men were sucked outside, the sudden pressure differential causing their lungs to burst. Pieces of furniture, people, planes and even a random dog were all sucked outside into the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space. Rohan could only watch helplessly as his closest friend's vessel was ripped to pieces.

Miraculously, the _Edge of Infinity_'s communications array was still active- and still broadcasting. On the screen, he could see the CIC of the ship was ruins, with people crumbled over desks and screens crackling with electricity.

To the shock of everyone in the _Executor_'s CIC, a disheveled and bloody but otherwise unharmed Captain Philips stood up, using the command table as a support.

"Hansen! HANSEN! Get to the escape pods now! This is an order!" yelled a frantic Commodore Rohan.

Philips attempted a grin, only to almost fall down again in a coughing fit. "Too… late. I… I'm done."

"NO! IT'S NOT TOO LATE!"

"Re- remember what your dad always told you? Whenver you came home with a bruise or with blood because you fell or got in a fight? Remember?"

Tears streaming down like a flood, Commodore Damion Yates Rohan nodded. "Yes, yes I do remember."

Captain Jason Philips cracked a painful smile. "Why do we fall, Damion?"

Not able to take it any longer, Rohan cracked as he fell back into his chair. "So… so we can learn to pick ourselves… up."

"Always remember that, sir. Remember to pick… yourself…"

The screen faded.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" It was a cry of anguish deep from the soul itself. A raw sound only made possible by the deepest of grief. The grief of losing a friend, a friend closer to you than your father ever was. A friend who stood by you as you were bullied by your own brothers, who took blows for you when you could not get up. Perhaps his only friend besides Valerian. And now he was gone.

A maelstrom of emotions clouded Rohan's face as he struggled to accept the fact that his best friend was now gone. Shock turned to disbelief turned to grief turned to anger. No emotion in his voice, Rohan spoke to his weapons officer.

"Ready the Yamato Cannon."


	3. Consequences

**Chapter III: Consequences**

Valerian looked over at Rohan's face. The tears were nowhere to be seen. In their place was a cold, hard, emotionless face.

"All ships concentrate firepower on that... ship!" said Rohan furiously, designating the enemy vessel that had fired the missiles. It was 6.5 kilometers long, just less than 6 times larger than the backbone of the Dominion fleet, the _Behemoth_-class battlecruiser. The display exploded in a display of color as all 49 remaining battlecruisers rained down a storm of laser fire. The immense amount of fire power reached out to the enormous ship... and did nothing. It seemed their enemy had energy shields as well.

"Rapidly building energy signatures! They're about to fire, sir!"

"How long till Yamatos?" growled Rohan.

The technician checked his display. "Just under 20 seconds, sir."

Then, the enemy ship fired. To his dying days, Rohan would never forget the sight. Streaks of light discharged from the side of the craft, lancing out towards the Dominion task force. The results were spectacular.

It was like the wrath of God was being unleashed. Five of his ships were hit, the golden beam blowing through the Defensive Matrix in a fraction of a second before smashing into their hulls. Three exploded outright as the ray hit their underbellies, where the armor was the thinnest. The other two were damaged almost beyond repair, their life supports barely functioning.

"Sweet mother of mercy," whispered Rohan. He had lost men before; what commander hadn't? But never on this scale, this fast. Over 40,000 men, obliterated in less than a second.

"Energy signatures climbing again, sir! Recommend immediate evac!" Even the usually stoic ELINT officer was unnerved.

"Status on Yamtos?!"

"14 seconds, sir! And more missiles inbound!"

Rohan gritted his teeth. Fire the Yamatos, _maybe_ destroy an enemy ship, and lose a few more of his own. Retreat, and lose no more, but have a chance at taking out the ship that had killed so many of his men.

"Rohan! We have to get the hell out of here now!" screamed Valerian.

Frozen, Rohan stared at the screen, watching the energy levels climbing and missiles closing the distance. Using the Yamatos would leave his ships unable to use their warp drives for at least ten minutes. And yet, it seemed preposterous to leave without even attempting to avenge their dead.

"Commodore Rohan! As your Commander-in-Chief I am ordering you to withdraw!" said Valerian in a voice that hinged near panic. He grabbed Rohan. "We're no good to the dead if we're dead too, are we? Now give the damn order!"

His eyes turned to glass as he nodded after what seemed like an eternity. "Initiate Emergency Protocol 9912. All ships warp to temporary evac position. Technician? Send the coordinates." He turned to the helmsman. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Mere moments after the words left his mouth, all 46 ships remaining in Task Force Centaur disappeared into the folds of the warp.

* * *

"I want answers, and I them now, Captain!" said Inquisitor Kessel in a particularly belligerent manner.

The Space Marine Captain stared back, unfazed by the outburst. He was used to dealing with the Inquisition. "As I have already informed you, there was _absolutely no way_ our force would have been able to capture those ships. If you had bothered to be on deck during the assault you would have noticed our fleet came under attack from Eldar forces as we were about to establish a communications channel. Now excuse me, Inquisitor. I have important affairs to deal with, such as the wounded. I suggest you make yourself scarce as well before the situation... escalates."

A vein threatened to pop in the tall, balding man's head as he struggled to contain his rage. "I... understand, captain. I merely wished to congratulate you for your success against the vile xenos." He turned around sharply and left.

When he was sure the man was out of hearing range, Captain Azrael Bernael Gallus shared a chuckle with his fellow Battle Brothers. "It seems our most pious… comrade has deduced we are somehow to blame for the appearance of the filthy Eldar."

"Indeed, Captain. If it were not respect for his rank, I would have separated his head from his body long ago."

Gallus whipped his head around. "Those are treacherous thoughts, Brother. Remember in the end, we all are in the service of the Emperor. Even unto death."

A nod. "Even unto death, Captain. As Chapter Master Trajan would have said."

The bridge grew silent at the mention of their Chapter Master, whom they believed had succumbed to the abominable forces of Chaos, although it was not certain. It had been a sobering experience, even for the battle-hardened Astartes.

It had been an accident. A mere week after the disastrous Battle of Cadia, the Navigator had unintentionally led them into a full-blown Chaos invasion of a minor Forge World, Yalis IV. In the resulting battle, their battlebarge, the _Helm of the Dominator_ had been boarded. In an effort to buy time for the warp engine to come online, Trajan had held his own against hordes of the enemy, getting the precious minutes needed to escape, but at the cost of his life. They had not even found the body; indeed, their greatest fear was to someday meet their former Chapter Master on the field of battle, but on the other side.

* * *

As the officers of Task Force Liberty gathered in the conference room of the _Executor_, an awful silence came over the room as the enormity of what had just occurred began to sink into their heads. It had been a humbling experience, seeing the best of the fleet getting blasted apart by the afterthoughts of an unforgiving giant.

The room itself was not large, but not small as to be uncomfortable. Shaped in a rectangle approximately 70 feet long and 50 feet wide, it was, as were most of the other rooms in the ship, designed to be space-efficient. For the seventeen people in attendance, including four marines, it was more than enough.

Unlike the dining room, the conference room was plain and utilitarian in appearance, showing none of the regal splendor present in the other sections of the vessel, and having no items of décor whatsoever. A large holo-table dominated the center of a large, gray table, showing various statistics and projections. All in all, it was a room designed for functionality, not flashiness.

Valerian broke the silence, nodding in the direction of Rohan. "How's the fleet doing, Commodore?"

Rohan's face twisted into a grimace. "Not good, sir. We lost the _Augustograd, Polaris, James Iovine, LeBron, Thundergod _and_ Leyte Gulf_. _Executor_ and _Hellraiser_ suffered minor damage from shrapnel, but nothing the droids can't handle. Total casualties are 49,182, excluding civilians. We're still trying to find out who were on those ships."

The full weight of the announcement hit the room like a tornado. Almost _50,000 _lives had been lost, snuffed out in the wake of a battle between two groups they didn't even know. Various emotions flickered throughout the room, ranging from shock, grief, disbelief and rage. Most decided on rage, while others confusedly switched between shock and disbelief.

"A memorial service for the fallen has been scheduled for tomorrow." Nods, although some frowned, thinking it was far too early. "And now I yield the floor to Dr. Henry McLain, who may have an explanation on what the hell is going on."

Damian stepped aside as another man walked to the front. Valerian frowned. The man in front of him did not fit the stereotypical description of a "mad scientist." Rather, he was completely the opposite. Large, physically fit and with a military haircut, and enormous at 6'7, he would not have seemed out of place in a Special Forces division.

Apparently one of the others had noticed that as well. "You sure you didn't bring one of the Spec Ops in here on accident, Commodore?" asked one, causing a chain of chuckles to circulate around the room. Military humor, thought Valerian. I'll never understand it.

The man cleared his throat before he spoke. "We have a lot of information to cover, so I'll make my introduction brief. My name is Dr. Henry McClain, assistant to Dr. Mary Sue and Marty Stu. They were both on the _Thundergod_ and are now missing, presumed dead. Thus, I have taken over as head scientist of this task force." He cleared his throat once more. "Now, to the briefing. As you all are aware, we are not where we are supposed to be. However, I have just discovered we are not just displaced in terms of _space_ but also _time_."

He shuffled nervously on his feet, a move that appeared quite alien to his imposing body. "A twelve years ago, Dr. Yeltzig Heimer of the Goer Technological Institute theorized that given sufficient energy, a special type of engine could be made that would travel at faster-than-light speeds _out_ of warp space, in normal space, thus moving forward in time. The first blueprints were drawn up personally by Dr. Heimer himself, and he would later receive the Bering Award for his work in this field. A year after Dr. Heimer's proposed designs, the project was mysteriously scrapped by the institute and the Dominion confiscated all of his work. Heimer was later revealed to have been a scammer, was stripped of his accolades and later commited suicide.

"Dr. Heimer was not a scammer," said McClain, his speech starting to babble, a trait commonly associated with scientists when they were excited. "He was a genius, and he was killed for his work by the Dominion. When the Dominion confiscated his work, they realized this truly was possible, and Project Gateway was born to capitalize on his research. At first, Gateway went nowhere. Dominion scientists could not get past Dr. Heimer's work or the energy requirements and the project was stalled for months. However, breakthroughs by Dr. Mary Sue and Marty Stu, as well as captured protoss technology allowed them to finally create a prototype."

Murmurs floated throughout the room. It was obviously the first time any of them had heard this.

Dr. McClain was oblivious to it all. "Remember the Dreamworks theater explosion? Caused by Gateway. Over 700 dead, and 2000 injured in an enormous explosion. Raynor was blamed, but the true cause was that prototype. But the important thing was, the prototype had _worked_. They had turned on the machine six miles under the surface on a Monday, and it appeared in a theater halfway around the world on _Wednesday_.

"Three weeks later, Korhal was invaded by Kerrigan and Raynor and Project Gateway was buried under a thousand tons of molten neosteel. But four years ago, it was rediscovered. As you already know, the reason we needed so many ships in this experiment was because of the energy requirements. In order to power this thing, we either needed a generator as large as four battlecruisers, or the combined power of fifty. We chose the latter."

Valerian jumped to his feet, outrage plastered on his face. "Now, now, wait a second. Why was I never told about this? I was told this was a new warp drive!"

McClain was equally confused. "You didn't know, sir? I thought you were. And yes, this was supposed to be a new warp drive. It was supposed to be able to cross the galaxy in less than a week at a fraction of the power of our current warp drives. Obviously this was a prototype, thus requiring the immense power, but later vers-"

"I don't give a damn about the warp drive, Dr. McClain," cut off Valerian. "I want to know why we had to lose 50,000 men and women and why the hell I wasn't informed of this."

McClain meekly withdrew as Rohan took the stage. He deeply inhaled and exhaled. "The odds of such thing happening were less than one in thirty-one trillion, sir. We felt… it was not necessary to tell you of what could have happened."

"I see, Commodore," said Valerian coldly. "Last time I checked, I am still the leader of this nation. There is no need-to-know basis when it concerns me. I need to know _everything_. That mistake cost us good men, Commodore Rohan."

"I understand, sir. But the odds were-"

"_Do you understand, Commodore_?"

Rohan swallowed. Valerian Mengsk may seem like a meek, scholarly figure at first glance, but he could be a tough son of a bitch when he wanted to. "Yessir. I'll personally make sure that happens."

"Good. Now, Dr. McClain, continue with your briefing."

"As I was saying, the new engine was supposed to revolutionize transportation. However, as Commodore Rohan already mentioned, there was a very slight chance that there would be an unintended side effect. We are almost certainly at our destination, in that case Char, but we have been displaced temporally as well. From my calculations, it seems we have been moved forward in time several dozen millennia. The exact date is unknown, but it can be anywhere from 22,000 to 48,000 years into the future."

A silence descended on the room as the implications of such an event hit the group like a brick. Finally, one of the captains asked the question that was in everyone's head. "Is there a way back?"

McClain stared at the captain, his eyes blank. His hands shook as he delivered the verdict. "No, sir. There is no way back."


	4. Flight of Icarus

**Chapter IV: Flight of Icarus**

"Rise 'n shine, convict. It's Fry-day." The obscenely obese guard who had received the unanimous moniker of "Pudge" banged his baton on the bars, jolting the sole inhabitant of the small cell awake.

Agent Icarus rubbed his eyes open. He turned on his bed, facing the guard. The hack stared back, unflinching in an undeclared but mutually understood staring contest. A few seconds later, the guard was forced to concede. He shot Icarus a dirty look before keying opening the cell door.

"Freak," spat the guard.

Icarus reveled in his short-lived but satisfying victory. It was always a pleasure to put the guards back in their place.

Rough hands yanked Icarus up with enough force to dislocate a normal man's shoulder. He briefly contemplated sitting back down to spite the guard, but decided against it. Better to save his energy. He turned around for a fraction of a second to say a good-bye of some sorts to the spartan cell he had called his home for the past six months. Humph. He had like that cell.

"Get moving!" snarled Pudge, still annoyed at the prisoner's act of resistance. He slapped handcuffs on Icarus, closing them an extra notch to punish him.

Pudge was soon joined by "Beachboy," a tall and skinny guard known for being relatively gentle and sympathetic. Both were part of the Trinity On-Ship Penitentiary Guard Force, jokingly called "Failrines" by the other members of the Terran military on account that most had (somehow) failed their Marine Corps entrance exams. Both looped their arms around his, securing him in between the two.

Halfway through the brightly-lit hallway, Icarus tripped. He went down hard, almost bringing Pudge and Wanker down with him. A full seven seconds later he pushed himself up under the hostile glares of the guards.

"Tough luck, mate. Best you move on and accept it," said Beachboy, obviously thinking Icarus was attempting to delay his execution.

Ignoring the two, Icarus closed his eyes and began to count softly. "1, 2, 3, 47, 8, 9, 10."

As soon as he reached ten, Icarus struck. He stopped abruptly, forcing the two hacks to awkwardly lean forward. The action served to raise their center of gravity and become uncoordinated. Both served Icarus' purpose. A leg sweep followed by a quick downward elbow took down the already off-center Beachboy, incapacitating him for the rest of the fight. Icarus turned his gaze to the frozen Pudge. He advanced slowly, enjoying the moment.

"N- n- now, I never me- meant nothing, ya know? It wa- was just a job. Nothing p- personal."

The following punch felt strangely unsatisfying. Icarus looked down at Pudge in contempt. Had his former employers really underestimated him this much? He efficiently sifted through Pudge's pockets, quickly locating the key for his handcuffs. A few seconds later, Icarus was a free. He swiftly handcuffed Pudge and Beachboy together, careful to push down Pudge's side a few notches tighter than usual. He had timed the fall so they would arrive just after the last rotation of guards had passed; it would be 18 minutes before they passed the same spot again. Satisfied that he would have at least a few minutes, Icarus took off down the hall.

Icarus laughed at the lack of cameras in the ship. It seemed that prisoner security was not high up on the Office of Budget and Management's priority list. Big mistake.

Four minutes later, he arrived at one of the hangers. Silently tiptoeing inside, he froze when he saw a technician rapidly approaching the door. Cursing under his breath for not pocketing the hacks' batons, Icarus casually strode to one of the ships, hoping the technician would not notice his prison-issue jacket. He released his breath in relief as the man walked away. He did not want to bring any more attention to the area than necessary.

After looking back to make sure the technician was gone, Icarus stepped inside one of the Quantradyne APOD-33 Dropships. He had extensive training and experience with Dropships, affectionately labeled as "BUFFs" or "Big Ugly Fat Fellows" by fighter jocks. A few buttons later, Agent Icarus was a free man.

Born on Tarsonis in 2488, he had been 12 when the zerg had arrived. He remembered the smoke, the fires, the bombs, and most of all, the zerg themselves. Zerg. Nature's wrath personified, they were terrible and awesome, a species unrivaled in destructive capability. He had seen his father devoured alive by zerglings and his mother getting ripped to pieces by the terrible hydralisks. It had only been a combination of wit, athleticism and luck that had saved him from a similar fate.

He had then been whisked away by Raynor's Raiders, only to be captured again by the Confederacy. A few months later, he had been "recruited" by the new Terran Dominion and placed in Project Geneseed, a highly secret black project dedicated to genetically, psionically and cybernetically modifying humans into something much more. By then, he had already suffered through weeks of Dominion resocialization - the hard way, since a normal resoc would interfere with the implants. By the time he was literally dumped on the doorsteps of Geneseed, he was a broken young man. He had forgotten his name, and still did not remember to this day.

Throughout the next months, he was forced through various augmentations - a zerg gene implant that accelerated his healing, a cybernetic implant that enhanced his eyesight, a psionic gift ripped out of a protoss from Project Blackstone that allowed him to sense psionics around him. There had originally been fourteen others. Three weeks into the process, he was the only one alive. The doctors called it a miracle. He called it survival.

Fifteen months later, he graduated. He was deployed on his first mission the next week. By then, he was nothing but a mindless drone to the Dominion. The old him was gone, fully replaced by Agent Icarus, a monster with no morals or ethics except the orders he received. While Agent Nova had soon replaced him as the Emperor's principal assassin, he still had his role.

Then, Raynor and Valerian had arrived. All participants of Project Geneseed were arrested, including himself. He had soon discovered for himself the joys of the democratic process - a kangaroo court and a hasty sentencing that went through years of appeals while he rotted in prison. Luckily for him, during those years it seemed the Dominion had forgotten that he was no mere man.

Agent Icarus set a course for the nearest inhabited world. He knew this new universe contained sentient life - word traveled fast, even in prison. It was just a matter of finding it and blending in. Then, truly free for the first time in 12 years, he closed his eyes and slept.

_War had come upon Tarsonis. The never-ending flood of zerg had already overrun the city's outer perimeter, and it is only a matter of hours before the rest of the Confederacy's capital falls._

_A small 12-year old boy stumbles outside, his father attempting in vain to shelter his child from the horrors that await them. Corpses are stacked over a dozen-deep in some places, their putrid smell haunting the family as they attempt to make their escape._

_A pack of zerglings jump out of a side street, surrounding them in a matter of seconds. Two hydralisks join them. They approach slowly, relishing in fear radiating from the humans. Then, as if on cue, they leap._

_The father is killed almost instantly, his body ravished by the savage bites of the creatures. The mother backs up, holding her child behind her. Frightened, the boy runs out from behind his mother to the almost unrecognizable body of his father. Ironically, this grants the boy a temporary reprieve as the mother is ripped apart by a flurry of hydralisk spines that would have torn him apart as well. Almost shocked by the brazen and utterly illogical move, the creatures curiously watch the child for a moment before getting ready to pounce._

_They never get the chance to. A dozen zerglings are shredded in a second as C-14 rifles open up in close proximity, their distinct ripping noise only adding to the chaos of the moment. Blood splatters on the boy. The hydralisks snarl and return fire, their spikes penetrating through a few of the offending marines. However, there are too many marines, and the last hydralisk is put down before too many Terrans are killed._

_The leader of the small band approaches the boy while calling out orders. "Spread out and find Kerrigan! Johnson! Take the kid!"_

_A white medic gently picks up the child. His facemask withdraws, and he holds the boy close. "What's your name, child?" He asks in a gentle and soothing tone._

_"I- it's-"_

Agent Icarus awoke in a cold sweat. A quick glance at the on-board watch told him a mere 45 minutes had elapsed since his departure from the Trinity. Scowling, he laid his head down and attempted to get back to sleep. He had had that dream hundreds of times - always stopping before he could say his name.

* * *

In a rare breach of protocol, Rohan popped a cigar while he paced around the conference room. He had quit for two years after the docs had told him the habit would kill him, but the Transition, as it was beginning to be called, was having a toll on him. Reports showed that over 30 men had committed suicide in the past week. Sometimes they ejected themselves out of the airlock, leaving no trace of their disappearance. Others were messier, leaving bloody heaps on the floor that had to be cleaned up afterwards. He smiled as he recalled the story of a certain Charlie Yeltzer - the Transition had ridded him of over 50 grand in debt and 4 ex-wives. Lucky bastard, he thought. Certainly luckier than some of the others, who had left behind wives, children.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sentence that made him whip his head around in shock.

**Author's note: This is a relatively short chapter, and I apologize for that. I promise the next one will have a lot more action and content - and I promise that we'll get to know more about Agent Icarus' past than that he was abused and trained by the Dominion. Also sorry if you guys were expecting more Rohan - there'll be more of a balance between Icarus and Rohan next chapter. I'll try to post more frequently, although I have no guarantees. **

**Also, a question: should I include Raynor in the story or not? I don't think I will, but if enough readers want me to I will consider it.**


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